Merry Christmas
by AGATBfan
Summary: A year has come and gone since TSFT. The girls are back for the Christmas Ball. Addresses several issues concerning Felicity's family. Promises to be full of scandals and intrigue! 5 chapters up, more coming if you review!
1. Chapter 1

**Scan·dal **_(n.)_- A circumstance or action that offends propriety or established moral conceptions; disgraces those associated with it

_See_ **GEMMA DOYLE**

PART I

_December 10__th__, 1897_

Chapter 1

"Brothers and sisters are as close as hands and feet." Vietnamese Proverb

It has been over one year since I have seen my dear friends, Felicity and Ann. We are making our way to London for the now rather infamous Christmas ball that the Felicity's family, the Worthingtons, host every year. No doubt it will bring joy to all who attend.

Ann shall be singing at the London Opera House on December 19th, and I am thrilled that she has finally begun to pursue her dreams as a performer.

Our darling Fee has been traipsing around Paris in trousers, claiming that she needs some time to sort her life out. I hope she has not grown to be like her mother, refusing to accept wrong-doings that are right under her aristocratic nose.

And as for myself? I've been residing near New York City and attending Vassar College. It's truly phenomenal how different London, New York, and Bombay are. They are three completely diverse worlds, and New York is, in my opinion, the best one yet. It has the color and flavor of Bombay, but the city life and scholarly feel of London. The amazing thing about New York, though, is the freedom for women. It is not perfect yet, for women cannot vote, but they can go to women's universities and learn the same things as men, and they can partake in the very same intellectual discussions as their husbands at the dinner table. Corsets, in fact, are considered terribly old fashioned.

Suddenly, a sharp jolt interrupts my thoughts, and I realize my train has stopped. A voice announces, "Victoria Station, London!"

I quickly gather my suitcase and elbow my way through swarms of people. Tom, my older brother, is waiting for me with a grin on his face, and envelops me in a hug.

Once Tom and I can move without bumping into each other, I hug him again.

"This will be our first Christmas without Father," Tom says softly as my things are put into the carriage.

"I know," I say. "Perhaps it is better that he faced his tiger. His death." That word sounds so strange to me now that I have seen someone die. My father started using laudanum and opium after the death of my mother as a way to ease the pain, and it soon spiraled into an addiction. He went back to India, to be at peace, he said. I know in my heart that he is dead in an opium den.

"Perhaps it is," Tom murmurs. His pained frown quickly changes into a smile. "Will we be discussing medicine and physcology, scholar?"

I make a disgusted face. "None of that for me. We can, however, discuss literature."

"Literature!" Tom laughs, shaking his head. "I should've known!"

I raise an eyebrow. "I'm sorry. Dead people fail to capture my attention."

"Gemma, Gemma," Tom sighs. "Medicine is about helping the living, not the dead."

"Of course," I giggle.

The sun is high in the sky as we pass East London, and Tom shuts the carriage curtains tightly, shielding the slums from sight.

As we pass noises of shouting people in Cockney accents, he says all too loudly, "Tell me. Is our dear friend Ann going to perform for us at the Christmas Ball? Maybe she shall be rich after all, for I have heard that she has a very prominent role in _La Bohem_."

I glare at him. "You know very well that Mrs. Worthington is livid with Ann for making up that story about her uncle."

"Because we know that the admiral's wife is all too concerned about reputations." He winks at me.

"You're hysterical, Tom," I say sarcastically.

"I know," he says in a sing-song voice, "you needn't flatter me. Where shall our little princess be dropped off?"

"Outside of the Worthingtons's home in Mayfair. Fee and I are going for tea at her new favorite restaurant. If all goes well, Ann will be here in a day or two."

"It's a shame that I don't have an extra set of trousers," Tom laughs. "I'm sure she would be thrilled to get them as a Christmas gift."

"Actually," I say airily, "her trousers are much finer than yours, and are probably tailored to perfection. She doesn't live on a medical student's money. Nor does she have to live with a grandmother that watches her as if she were three."

This silences Tom. I break the quietness by saying, "Speaking of Grandmama, how is she?"

"Unfortunately, she is getting along rather well," Tom states. "She asks about you frequently, and does not approve of your contact with Miss Bradshaw or the young Miss Worthington." I try to interrupt, but Tom continues, "She did tell me to tell you, however, that if you had to choose one to remain friends with, you should choose Miss Bradshaw. This is because, and I quote, 'Although a liar, she is not of questionable virtue, nor is she the daughter of a well-known whore.'"

"It is lovely to know that Grandmama has not lost her taste for unsolicited opinions and gossip," I say dryly.

"At least you didn't have to live with her while attending medical school. Between the two, I was about to go insane."

I pat him on the shoulder. "My sympathies go out to you. Oh my!" I cry, looking at the huge brick houses we are now trotting past. "I must get off here, but I'll see you at dinner tonight."

I give Tom a quick kiss on the cheek and open the carriage door, stepping out with my single suitcase,

"Tell Miss Worthington that I am truly sorry about the trousers," Tom calls after me, smiling.

**OK, this will get A LOT more exciting. Please review on how it is so far!!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"The only way to have a friend is to be one."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

As I walk up to the Worthingtons's grand estate, I see a pale figure leaning against a wrought-iron gate, suitcases piled high behind it. Once I see the suitcases, I know at once the figure must be Felicity.

I break into a run, leaving the unfortunate servant carrying my single suitcase to fend for himself.

"Fee!" I cry, sprinting into her arms.

"Gemma! It's wonderful to see you again! You look well. Have you been taking care of yourself?" Apparently I'm not supposed to answer, because she presses on, "I've missed you dearly. When you live in Paris the days turn into months, and before you know it, a year has flown by! And you have been studying literature, have you not? Dear God, I wouldn't put myself through more education if someone offered to give me the world." She releases me from her tight hug and asks, "Would you like to see your gift?"

I'm confused. "My gift?" I hope this isn't mandatory, for the only gift I'm planning on giving her is one on Christmas day.

"Yes, your gift."

Apparently I still look puzzled, for she explains, "In most Anglo-English families, you get one small gift every day before Christmas. Did they not teach you this in India?" Make no mistake; Fee is still Fee, Paris or not.

I say nothing, so she hands me a red silk pouch with a pulled drawstring. When I open it, I find a crystal carved to look like the Eifel Tower. "It's lovely, Felicity. Thank you."

"You're very welcome," she smiles. "You must tell me all about New York City, but first, why don't you be a dear and go get a carriage? My house is just behind the gate, there should be several to choose from."

This is odd. But then again, we're dealing with Felicity. "We can go together, Fee. It is your house, after all."

Felicity leans in towards me even though there is no one in earshot. "I haven't seen my mother for a year. It is not high time to start."

"But the Christmas Ball…"

"Yes, Gemma, I realize that I must see her then. It's not for two weeks."

This is ridiculous. "You cannot publicly disown your mother, Felicity. That is a petty thing to do. If you're so mad at her, then talk to her about it! Besides, where are you going to live? On the street?"

Felicity raises an eyebrow. "I've acquired several connections, thank you."

I laugh. "Well you probably lost most of them when you started flouncing around Paris in trousers."

"My mother deserves ten times worse than what she got."

"Then don't be a coward and maybe she _will_ get times worse than what she got," I say.

She puts a hand on her hip. "Was that a challenge?"

I grin devilishly. "Only if you want it to be."

Understanding shows in Felicity's eyes as she says, "I am not a coward," and promptly climbs over the gate, dropping down on the other side. "Are you coming?"

Climbing over the Worthingtons's wrought-iron gate is not as easy as Felicity makes it seem. By the time I had hauled myself up and over the gate, Felicity had already marched past hordes of workers pulling a mammoth wreath onto a column.

"Here's a carriage, Fee," I say hopefully, pointing to a green and gold Christmas carriage with snow white horses.

It appears that Felicity is not listening to me. She roughly opens two huge French doors and disappears into the house. With no choice but to follow her, I slip inside. I see people speaking with holiday merriment in the beautiful entrance. They halt their conversations to stare at the stampeding Fee, with her long, white-blonde hair streaming out from behind her. I'm sure that I would be looking on with amusement as well if I didn't have to run to keep up with her.

Felicity has always been such an unselfish, thoughtful young lady.

As I pass the various guests who are standing around, I hear snippets of gossip.

"… Is that the admiral's daughter?"

"… What a shame she's turned out the way she did."

"… Felicity is so very cheeky."

"… Trousers on a woman. Who ever heard of such a thing?"

Don't people have anything better to do then stand around and gossip about a girl who they have never met?

I've no time to think now, for Felicity has banged open two doors which lead to a hallway. One stair-climb, right turn and door-bang later, we come to a balcony. I am shocked by the frigid air.

Felicity says, "My mother used to come up here."

I look down. It is a good ten feet to the snowy grass, but that doesn't stop Felicity from hopping down. She stares up at me. "I won't wait."

Confronted with this obvious ultimatum, I close my eyes and jump down. "Closing your eyes," Felicity points out, nose running from the cold, "does not block out what you are scared of."

In silence, I follow her as she walks down a stone pathway lined with leafless trees that I'm sure look beautiful in the summer. We come upon a light blue carriage with British flags on both doors. On the back, carved out of the wood in gold calligraphy, is a saying that only the most powerful people in England can have on their carriages: "_All hail the Queen_."

Felicity breaks into a slow smile. "We are in England now, you and I. If we must do such a prim and proper thing as going to tea, we shall do it in style."

Stealing Admiral Worthington's carriage for the afternoon doesn't sound like a jolly good time to me, but apparently it does to Felicity. And once Felicity has made up her mind about something, there is no point in arguing with her.

She steps in the carriage, and I have no choice but to follow.

"Take us to Goodman and West," Felicity barks to the driver.

"You are not the admiral, Miss," the driver says in a strong Irish accent.

"Evidently," she says sarcastically. "But if you know what's good for you, you will take us to Goodman and West."

"Yes, Miss," the driver says. The poor man must be scared to death. I know I would be.

As the driver moves out into the crowded London street, I look at the inside of the carriage. It has a navy blue carpet and ceiling with bright red velvet seats. A small table next to Felicity's seat displays a well-developed photograph of the Queen and Admiral Worthington.

Felicity seems to be dismayed with the picture, and the last thing I want is a sulking Felicity, so I say to her with a bright smile on my face, "Tell me about Paris."

She tears herself away from the photograph and blots at her eyes with a pink handkerchief. "It is lovely." She frowns as she says, "Wearing trousers didn't get the effect I had hoped it would. It seems that there are already several ladies who have found trousers to be practical. And it's about time, I might add."

"And what of your life there?" I ask.

She sighs. "When you are in Paris, you don't have to worry about who you have gone out to lunch with, or if your dress is too daring. All you really have to worry about is having a jolly time. There are adorable shops selling anything you can possibly imagine. Jewelry, art, flowers, deserts, couture gowns…" Her voice softens. "I can see why my mother liked it so much more than being with me."

Ignoring the last comment, I say quickly, "You must have simply adored it there." Please, God. Anything to stop her from talking about her mother.

Her lip trembles as she says shakily, "I did, Gemma. I did. But living the unexamined life is neither healthy nor practical. It is what my mother did, and I fear I shall become her."

"I understand," I say, but I really don't. Just because Felicity lived in Paris, it didn't mean she had to take a lover and leave her husband and daughter. Last I checked, Felicity didn't have a husband and daughter, so that shouldn't be too much of a problem.

"Goodman and West," I announce to Felicity, for she has sunk into a daydream. "Isn't this where you want to be?"

"Stop the carriage!" Felicity bellows to the driver.

The carriage comes to an abrupt halt, whereupon Felicity mutters, "I thought that Papa would have enough common sense to hire a carriage driver who can actually drive a carriage. And speak English."

As we climb out, she threatens to the man, "And if you ever want to see the light of day again, then you will not inform my father that we borrowed his carriage. Understood?"

The driver gapes. "You're the admiral's dau…," but Felicity slams the door before he can finish his sentence.

She turns to me. "Sorry about the yelling, but Papa has an absolute fit if anyone touches his things."

Felicity has never had any particular animosity towards Irish people, but she does think that they should know their place. And that place is living inside the stairwells of wealthy British people as their servants.

As we walk down the middle-class street, heads turn at Felicity, with her snow-white fur coat, white leather gloves, and the famous dark blue sapphire ring that she wears on her index finger. It's bigger than both her eyes put together, and rather gaudy. But what can I say? Her father gave it to her, so Fee likes it.

"Here we are," Felicity says, her gray eyes glinting with excitement. "It's _tres_ daring, the kind of place my mother would absolutely despise. I'll be sure to tell her I came."

"You can leave me out of that confrontation," I mutter under my breath.

Ignoring me, Felicity opens the door. The walls are painted a dark purple, one completely lined with mirrors. There is a singer on a stage. And as if we were in a gentleman's club, there is an open bar complete with a bar tender! Now I know why Fee likes it.

After we are seated and the waiter gives us menus, I immediately flip to beverages. "Fee!" I exclaim. "There is not a single mention of tea on here. I thought we are going to afternoon tea. Key word being tea."

"Gemma, you do an extraordinary impression of Ann. Did you know that in Paris, no one goes for tea anymore? They go for a bite to eat and have some wine." I must look worried, because she rolls her eyes and says, "Don't worry, my dear Ann. I won't be as brazen as to enjoy a scotch at three o' clock in the afternoon."

"Speaking of Ann," I say, ignoring the taunt, "did you know that she shall be coming tomorrow or the day after?"

Felicity's face lights up. "I thought that she would be arriving closer to the day of the opera." She claps her hands. "This is splendid. Oh, we can have the loveliest time. Haven't you missed our humble little Annie?" I truly, truly do not understand her. One moment she mimics Ann, the next she is discussing Ann's arrival as if Ann were the Queen. That's Felicity Worthington for you.

"I have just come upon the best idea! Polly and Papa have tickets to go to the biannual art show tomorrow."

"Felicity, I've no idea what that is."

"Of course," Felicity sighs, "they wouldn't have those in India. Silly me. Every two years in London, there is an art show that displays all the fine works of our time, and that of centuries ago. It's a very social event as well. Papa is obviously only planning on taking Polly, but I'm sure we could tag right along. He's quite easy-going."

I touch her hand. "Fee, I thought you didn't want to see your parents."

"Nonsense!" Felicity laughs. "That's only my mother, and I really don't know what I was thinking when I said it. Even she isn't that bad. I'm sure Papa would be thrilled to see me again. And Polly has yet to stop talking about your green eyes. Oh, it shall be so very jolly, all of us together again!"

I want to reason with Felicity, but she seems so happy that I cannot. She squeezes my hand. "I can't wait, Gemma! Can you?"

"No," I say weakly. But it just so happens that I could wait a very long time.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Family dinners are more often than not an ordeal of nervous indigestion, preceded by hidden resentment and ennui and accompanied by psychosomatic jitters." _M. F. K. Fisher_

As I step into the house, I brush snow off my drab brown coat.

"You're late," a stern voice states, and at once I know who it must belong to.

"Hello, Grandmama," I say in my most chipper tone. "Lovely to see you." _Yes, lovely to see you. About as lovely as seeing death._

Grandmama glares at me. "Likewise." There is a moment of silence before she prods, "So you have been attending a university just as a man would?"

I glare right back. "Yes, and I quite enjoy it."

Tom coughs and says all too brightly, "She is studying literature, Grandmama." There is silence as the three of us eat our consommé. "You know how Gemma has always loved her books."

"I do know. And it is a rather guilty pleasure for a lady I might add," she snips. _Not as guilty as making my life a living hell. _"Where were you today that kept you from supper?"

Oh, Lord. "I was out with a friend."

"Name?"

I look down. "It was Miss Worthington."

Tom smiles, saying, "Did you tell her about the trousers, then?"

"Thomas, honestly! Stop that!" You can always count on Tom to pitch in at just the right moment.

Grandmama looks annoyed. "I do not approve of you running around the city with a person of such questionable virtue! Your reputation, young lady, is not something you can toss about."

Best to be out with my plans, then. "Grandmama, Miss Worthington has invited me to attend the biannual art show with Miss Bradshaw, Miss Worthington's cousin, Polly, and," I pause dramatically for effect, "Lord Worthington."

Being around English people in England has taught me at least one valuable lesson: You can catch more bees with honey, even if it is vile honey.

Thomas, judging by the look on his face, is utterly stunned. Yet God knows that the first thing out of Grandmama's mouth is, "No."

I am shocked. "But why…"

"Because," Grandmama lectures, "you, my dear, have a status to maintain. Not that showing up at events with Admiral Worthington will hurt it, but I shan't let you be seen with the young Miss Worthington, or your other friend, the liar. Besides, I have no idea who this Polly is, but I have a feeling that she as well has a singed reputation."

"She has just turned eight, Grandmama. The admiral, bless his soul, has taken her in as his ward. Both her parents are dead, and she is the sweetest, prettiest thing."

I wait for a reply. When there is none, I try, "Everyone knows that Lord Worthington has been working much too hard. He just wants to get out and see some art, but he doesn't like leaving little Polly cooped up. So really we are there to watch over her."

She seems to consider this. "There is no concern for your safety with the admiral there, of course.

_Don't worry about me_. "No, of course not."

"And as for your reputation… Well, it would help, not harm you and your friends if people see you watching the youngster."

I nod.

Grandmama sighs. "I suppose you may go. Do say hello to the admiral for me."

I hug her for the first time in over a year. "Thank you, Grandmama," I whisper.

A shadow of doubt passes over her face. "And you are certain that Miss Worthington will do nothing to endanger the child?"

"I swear it." For the first time that night, I have told the truth.

**OK, so this is Chapter 3. Review. In case you didn't hear the first 8 million times.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"No object is so beautiful that, under certain conditions, it will not look ugly."

Oscar Wilde

I wake early the next morning and slip out of the house, wearing my best double-breasted jacket cream jacket. I brought it from a department store in New York that sells fine clothing. Lucky for me, my friend was a sales clerk.

I tell the carriage driver to take me to Mayfair. Just as I had suspected, Felicity is standing outside her house. She practically leaps at me.

"Gemma! Did you get the telegraph? Ann is arriving at Victoria Station at noon!"

"Of course I did. And it is nine thirty; we still have two and a half hours."

She frowns. "Well, no time like the present! We had better get there early if we want her to see us when she comes off the train."

She sticks her head through the gate and barks, "Carriage! Now!"

As we step into our relatively plain coach, Felicity asks enthusiastically, "Would you like to see the earrings Papa gave me?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Obviously ignoring me, she tucks her white-blonde hair behind her ears, showing two navy blue sapphire earrings. She points to a silver box beside her, engraved with the message, _"For My Daughter."_ This is the kind of gift I would get for a successful debut, or maybe when I get married. It doesn't exactly fit the Doyles's idea of a "welcome home" present.

"Now," Felicity smiles, "I will have something to go with my ring."

"They're stunning," I say, and I mean it.

"He also said that I could pick something out from the art show for Christmas," she boasts.

I know what Fee wants me to say. 'You are lucky to have such a wonderful father.' But I cannot bring myself to. Buying extravagant gifts does not compensate for ruining someone's life.

She looks down into her lap and bites her full lip. It is clear that Felicity knows what I'm implying. Not much is said from then on.

Ann arrives promptly at noon. As Felicity and I run to hug her, we notice how different she looks. She is still on the pudgy side, but her straw-blonde hair is more golden and is pulled back into a ponytail, showing off her small nose and well-structured face. She seems to glow, and is standing up proudly.

"Ann!" Felicity cries, "When did you become such a beauty?"

Ann beams. "I… I don't know."

"I bet being on stage has done it to you," Felicity continues. "You're radiating confidence."

Leave it to Felicity to be eloquent at the right time.

"I've missed you, Annie," I say simply.

Ann has not stopped smiling since I first saw her. "I've missed you, too."

As we start the long ride back, I ask, "Aren't you nervous to sing in front of so many people?"

"Not really," Ann answers. "The crowd in Italy was almost as big." We stare at her skeptically. "Well, of course I'm a bit nervous, but worrying about it won't do anything, will it?"

"What have you done with Ann?" Felicity teases, smiling radiantly.

"Singing has made me a different person," Ann says. "I'm a bit more easy-going. And I don't get so mad at myself anymore."

Felicity laughs broadly, not attempting to stifle it. "Congratulations, Ann. You've finally become a human being!" Somehow, I know this is not meant to be a jeer.

"Gemma, Polly and Papa and I are going to the biannual art show tomorrow. Would you like to come?" I knew it would only be a matter of time.

"I would be delighted," Ann replies unusually confidently.

"Splendid!" Felicity cries. "I have the jolliest idea. You two should stay at my house tonight. That way, we can save Papa the trouble of picking you two up." She touches Ann's arm. "We could catch up on everything that we've missed out on over the past year. What does everyone say?"

"Sounds lovely!" Ann exclaims.

"Do I have a choice?" I ask weakly.

"No," they reply in unison.

I have a very bad feeling about this slumber party. I feel that I shall be forced to take Ann and Felicity to the realms. I feel that there will be a crying Fee and an awkward Ann. I also feel that I am usually right about these things.

Ann and Felicity are giggling and bouncing on the plush carriage seats, planning for our night. I sit up and join in on their laughter.

It is times like these when I wish I could use the magic without a care. I would make Ann completely sure of herself, and Felicity happy, if only for these few weeks. But I know that some things cannot change, no matter how powerful the magic.

After supper, I tell Grandmama that I have to attend a Spence reunion, and that I would not be home until a very late hour. She happily allows me to go, and I feel a pang of guilt about lying to her.

When I knock on the Worthingtons's big doors, I am nervous about who will answer. As it turns out, a maid does.

"Hello," I say pleasantly. "Is there any chance that I could be taken to Miss Worthington's quarters?"

"And what's your name, Miss?"

"Gemma Doyle," I respond. "I am to stay with Miss Worthington for the night."

"Yes, ma'am. I shall take you right away," the maid says.

As she leads me to Felicity's room, I notice two big, oak wood doors. One is open a crack. Someone shuts it tightly, and I hear a lock click. This house is a very odd place indeed.

The maid opens two white double doors with gold ornamentation and two big gold "_F's_" on the handles.

"Here you are, Ma'am," the maid says. "Miss Worthington has been expecting you."

"Thank you," I say, curtsying. The maid seems taken aback with this gesture of respect, and quickly scurries away.

Felicity and Ann come skipping up to the doorway.

"Gemma!" Ann cries, "You simply must see Felicity's room. It is like a palace!"

As I walk in, my heels click on the white marble floors. There are two large windows at the end of the room with bright pink curtains. The walls are the same ornamented white and gold as the door, and at each corner of the room, there are gleaming gold toy chests. Toys are neatly lined up along the walls, and in the corner of the room, there is the biggest bed I have ever seen. On it, there are pink silk sheets and a sprawling gold canopy. At the base of the bed, which might fit five Felicities head to toe, there are yet more toys.

"It _is _like a palace, Fee!" I exclaim.

"Mama wanted it for herself, but I protested, so Papa gave it to me. She'd never stand up to him." I've started to notice a pattern here.

"Come," Felicity says, "get in your nightclothes."

"It is seven o'clock!" I say.

"Yes, but it's a slumber party, and at slumber parties, you get into your nightclothes early. Did you not know this?" Felicity asks. _No, I didn't. I'm sorry that I'm such an impudent fool._

I look to Ann. She shrugs. "Alright, then," I say reluctantly. Felicity shows me to a bathroom where I quickly change into my simple white linen night gown. When I emerge from it, Ann runs toward me.

"Gemma!" She exclaims, "We must get to the realms. It's been over a year. I can't wait to see the gardens now that their beauty is restored."

"No! This is a slumber party, and it is _my_ slumber party, and at my slumber party, we have to eat goodies," Felicity commands.

Ann and I exchange looks of annoyance, but don't say anything.

It is a long, slow walk to her dining room, and on the table are toffees and chocolates. Felicity glares at us. "Go on, then. Eat," she barks.

"You eat, Felicity," Ann says, "It is your party after all."

"No," she says, "I must watch my weight." I look down at her stick-like arms and protruding collar bones and wonder why someone like her would have to care how much they weighed.

We all stare at each other, none of us attempting to touch the toffees. _What a nice start with your two best friends, Gemma. They're both miserable already._

Then, my heart sinks. Felicity's mother walks in. She takes a seat, and Felicity looks down.

"My," Mrs. Worthington starts, "you girls are in your nightclothes awfully early."

"Mother," Felicity says through gritted teeth, "at slumber parties, you get in your nightclothes early. That is just the way it is."

Mrs. Worthington puts her hand up. "Well! I'm very sorry. I was not aware that I had touched on such a sensitive subject."

"That's because you never do," Felicity says under her breath.

Ann giggles at Mrs. Worthington's remark, but Felicity silences her with a cold glare.

Ann looks at Felicity's mother. "I am so very excited to go to the art show with Lord Worthington and Polly tomorrow, Mrs. Worthington."

Mrs. Worthington smiles absently. "You won't be disappointed. Lord Worthington is quite the entertainer." Mrs. Worthington's perfect face screws up into a scowl. "Felicity, do I recognize this girl from somewhere?"

Felicity's face pales as she looks up. We forgot about Ann! "Oh, Mother! This is my friend… Abigail! She is from… from…"

"Paris!" I shout, "Felicity met her in Paris."

"Good Lord, Miss Doyle, I don't see any need to raise your voice," Mrs. Worthington says in a pleasant tone. She is not chiding, rather she is making something light-hearted out of it all.

"That's because everything has to be calm around you, Mother. Nothing can ever go wrong," Felicity spits.

Mrs. Worthington makes a face as if to say, _Really, Felicity, do mind your manners, this is a public situation, and I shan't have you embarrass me in front of all your friends, even if I did desert you and your father to run away with a young French artist in Paris. This is completely unnecessary. _Instead, she endures the comment with nothing more than a sigh.

With a final glance at Felicity, she says, "Where were we? Oh yes, you were introducing me to your friend Abigail. You're from Paris? I've spent a good deal of time in Paris over the years." _You wouldn't say._ "I daresay that my French is better than my English! Speaking of French, _bonjour, Mademoiselle…" _

Ann better remember her French, that's all I have to say.

"Javer!" Felicity cries. "Mother, this is Miss Javer!"

Ann looks as if she may die. If she forgot her French, we're ruined! "I'm only half French," she says, "so mine may be a little shaky."

"I'm sure that you are wonderful, Miss Javer. My," Mrs. Worthington continues, "you have such beautiful hair. It is a lovely golden color, and it has such a pretty wave to it."

Ann touches her hair. "Why… Thank you," she says, obviously flustered.

"It's funny. You are the spitting image of someone I know. Prettier, though." Mrs. Worthington smiles and shakes her head.

"At any rate," she says, "_Vouzette tres belle, Mademoiselle Javer."_

Ann shifts in her seat. She opens her mouth and then closes it.

_Oh, Ann,_ I plead, _you must remember your French. Not only will you speak it fluently, but you will have no accent and Mrs. Worthington will be utterly charmed no matter what you say._

I feel the magic surge within me for the first time in a year.

_Please, Ann._

She blinks. "_Merci boque, Madame Worthington_," she says in an accent that would put Felicity's to shame. The two continue on for a few moments, until Felicity rolls her eyes for the twelfth time and says, "Mother, there are more than two people in the room. You have scarcely spoken a word to Miss Doyle."

Mrs. Worthington's long eyelashes flutter. "Oh, dear, Miss Doyle. I'm so sorry that I've neglected you, but the company of someone from Paris just thrills me. London can get awfully drowsy," she says with a wink. "How is your grandmother fairing?"

_She says that you are a whore. _"Quite well. She inquires about you frequently," I say politely. It's true! I just hope that she doesn't ask what kind of inquiring. "And how is your husband?"

"Too good for Mother," Felicity says for my ears only.

Mrs. Worthington sighs. "The admiral, you mean?" _No, your other husband. _"He's fine." She looks to Felicity. "All of Polly's little friends came over for her birthday party. Quite the event! The admiral decorated this home as if the Queen were coming to visit." Mrs. Worthington smiles. "You know how happy your father is when Polly is happy. I just wish she would make more friends her age! He encourages her to play with such little ones; they're all three years younger than her! She blends right in, though, she's so tiny."

"He never throws me such birthday parties," Felicity mumbles.

"You're nineteen, dear. You can plan your own events."

Felicity grabs a toffee and breaks it between her fingers. "I just wish," she says, her voice louder, "that he would pay some attention to me." She smears the toffee across the table.

Mrs. Worthington's huge eyes widen with horror. "We got that table imported from Italy! Maid!" She calls, "Come clean this at once!"

A maid scurries into the room and begins scrubbing the table clean. Felicity's mother smiles brightly at us. Her smile is pleasant, but there is no substance behind it. "I'm so sorry, ladies. Felicity, darling, I apologize. The admiral will plan an event for you if you ask, I'm sure."

Felicity stands up abruptly. "Call him Father, or Papa, or George for once! Stop calling him 'the admiral.' It sounds so formal."

"I'm sorry," Felicity's mother says shakily, looking down. I see just how sad she is for a brief moment, the pain within her eyes. "Please, dear, sit down. I'm sorry that I made you uncomfortable."

Felicity yanks the chair so hard that it makes a scratching sound on the wood floor. Mrs. Worthington ventures, "Miss Javer, your French is outstanding." I stifle a laugh. "How was your time in America, Miss Doyle?"

Mrs. Worthington is so polite that I can barely stand it. You can see clearly in her eyes that she wishes to do something more than sit at a table and exchange pleasantries.

"Mother," Felicity says quietly, "I think that you had better leave."

Mrs. Worthington sighs. "If you say so, darling. Ladies, do try to get some sleep." She places a light hand on Ann's shoulder, then on mine. She even smells like beauty. "Lovely to see you two again." And with that, she drifts away.

"What's wrong with you?" I ask to Felicity once Mrs. Worthington is gone.

"Whatever do you mean?" Felicity says unconvincingly.

"You were perfectly horrid to you mother," Ann scolds.

"I don't appreciate that woman," Felicity says harshly.

"She's perfect," Ann says wistfully.

Felicity smiles bitterly. "She's as charming and flawless as can be on the outside. But don't be tricked into looking past her powder and corset. You might not like what you see."

Ann looks utterly bewildered. "What on earth are you talking about, Felicity?"

Something hard jumps across Felicity's face. "You wouldn't understand."

And with a great inhalation, she rises from her chair. "It's not worth discussing. Gemma, I wish to go to the realms."

**In case you can't tell, this is going to be a VERY LONG story. We're in it for the long haul, here, people!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
"There are some people who live in a dream world, and there are some who face reality; and then there are those who turn one into the other."

Douglas Everett

We walk to the privacy of the billiards room. I find that I have no trouble summoning the door of light, perhaps because of the magical surge I had when making Ann fluent in French.

I open the door. My heart swells when I see the garden restored to its former glory. Felicity shrieks with happiness and holds Ann's hands. They dance in a wild circle, Felicity's white-blonde hair seeming to glow in the light of the gardens.

Not wanting to be left out, I grab Felicity's slender wrist and join in on their crazy jig. Soon, we all fall down in a heap.

Ann laughs so hard that tears stream down her face. Felicity holds her hand over her heart, struggling for breath. She tips my head toward hers and kisses me on the cheek.

"Gemma," she smiles, "Thank you for restoring beauty to my life."

I smile back. "Your welcome."

We sit up, our dizziness gone. "Fee," I say gently, "the realms are part of your life. But they aren't part of your London life. You can't get the two confused."

Felicity laughs. "Dear, dear, Gemma. Once you have entered the realms, they are part of not just your life, but your being. You, of all people, should know that."

A blooming white flower falls from bright blue sky in slow motion. Felicity tucks it behind her ear as I say, "What I _mean_ is that just because you are satisfied with the realms, that doesn't mean you should be satisfied with your normal life.

Felicity frowns. "I know. And that's where the problem lies, isn't it?"

Before I can answer, she has waltzed off to join Ann by the river. Exasperated with her short attention span, I follow her over.

"Fee…"

Felicity shushes me. "Ann is singing," she chides.

Ann's voice flows as freely as the river, and it seems to take flight into the sky. When she is in the realms, she looks as if she is Ann as Ann would be without her troubles; long, honey-colored hair, sparkling blue eyes and a bright smile. Recently, she seems to look just like that in the real world.

When Ann is finished, Felicity and I applaud.

"Bravo, Ann!" Felicity shouts.

Ann blushes. "Was it really that good?"

"Better than ever!" I say.

"If you would excuse me," Felicity says, "I think I shall go hunting now."

"Fee," Ann complains, "we've only just gotten here. I wish that you would stay to talk."

"And I wish to practice my archery. I haven't done so for a year. Go talk to Gemma, she seems rather chatty. You know, Ann, just because you've made some money in the past year, you don't have to get all high and mighty." And with that, Felicity changes into a Valkyrie costume and dashes off into the woods.

That's all it takes to set her off. One little comment. She's so touchy sometimes. And other times, she's as easygoing as you could possibly imagine. Those other times, however, are far and few.

I sit down with Ann on the waving grass. She sighs. "Is Felicity mad with me?"

I shake my head. "No. She's mad at her mother. It's not you, Ann."

"Why does she have to be so nasty?" Ann asks.

I pick up a piece of grass and blow on it, making it turn into a butterfly. "Because that's her way of dealing with something unpleasant."

"What's so awful about her mother, anyways?"

I press my lips together, forcing the secret in. "She ran away to Paris, that's what. I don't think you'd like it very much, either."

Ann shrugs. "I've never had a mother. Besides, that was years and years ago."

"Felicity likes to hold grudges. They make her think that the person she's mad at got what they deserved, when it's really her who is suffering the most."

"Do I, then?" Felicity's voice says from behind me.

"Yes, you do," I snip.

"You can say that so easily, Gemma. That's because you've never been cast off as the only daughter of Admiral Worthington. What a shame he never had a son," she says bitterly.

"Your mother sent you the loveliest gifts when we were at Spence," Ann murmurs.

"I suppose I'm rather lucky," Felicity sighs. "For the gifts, at least."

_But not the mother._ The sentence hangs in the air like the heavy fog that lies over the east end of London.

"I apologize, Ann," Felicity says quietly. "I shouldn't have said that. It was rather inconsiderate of me."

"It's only what you thought," Ann says.

"And I thought wrong."

Ann smiles. "Truce?"

Felicity raises an eyebrow. "I wouldn't go that far."

Laughing, she takes off a Valkyrie boot and dips her foot in the water.

"Felicity!" Ann cries, "You mustn't do that! It's indecent!"

Felicity winks. "You're talking to Felicity Worthington, here. She happens to be the epitome of indecency."

Giggling and shrieking at the same time, Ann jumps head first into the water.

"Come, Gemma!" Felicity says enthusiastically, entering the cool river herself.

"And I was so warm," I mutter.

As I slip into the watery abyss, I find it surprisingly pleasant.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Ann splutters.

"It is."

"And therein is the dilemma," Felicity says almost inaudibly. "Things don't always bend to your will in the real world."

"No, they don't," I agree.

But it is comforting to know that sometimes, we can leave the troubles of London behind, even for a few hours. We can come to a place where we see a world that accepts us. A world that loves us. A world where there is a father who doesn't cast us off; a world where it doesn't matter who our parents are. A world where dreams can become a reality.

And that is precisely why that world isn't real.

**Review, my little darlings! Come on, you can do it!**


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